


Creation

by chii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Church might be jealous, just a little that David is able to go into the military, but all it had taken was one heavy, large hand on his shoulder, a little smile, and the assurance of, “You’re better off being the brains between the three of us, Leonard,” and knowing that Allison echoes it that settles it.  [ Maaajor AU. Written for the hell of it. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creation

**Author's Note:**

> This was written like...last year, LMAO so it's not really exactly quality. Larissa wrote a secondary part to it, but it wasn't finished. Basically this was just written after discussions of Wash and Church being pretty damn alike and SPOILERS I like threesomes, and Church and AI, so this...kind of...came about.

They meet while Leonard and Allison are together on leave for the first time after she’s joined the military, and she’s introducing him to-- well, she says it’s a guy as naive and idealistic as Leonard himself is, and really, he braces to dislike him but-- 

Truthfully, David’s really honestly kind of similar to him. He’d like to think more naive, more idealistic, but from the look Allison gives him when he tries to suggest it, he realizes no, not so much. 

They get along better than he expects, though, and soon enough, when the two have leave together, the three of them are near inseparable. When Allison’s off on duty, though, he finds he can respect the other man even more-- he clearly cares just as much. When it’s just them, they spend their spare time going over what Leonard is working on off and on, theories and studies and pouring over documents and papers written by men twice his age with twice the experience. 

He might be jealous, just a little that David is able to go into the military, but all it had taken was one heavy, large hand on his shoulder, a little smile, and the assurance of, “You’re better off being the brains between the three of us, Leonard,” and knowing that Allison echoes it that settles it. 

 

A few years pass and Leonard debates what he calls The Question He’s Not Sure He Should Ask, and what David says is, You’re A Huge Moron Just Do It. 

Then again, David’s not really a good example of suave with women and it’s entirely worth the smack that results when he primly tells the other man that after he keeps needling at him to just ask her. 

 

He gets the money he asks for, and even better, gets the start of the plans he’s asked for, and he practically runs into their cramped apartment (temporary, he tells himself, only temporary) and sees the two of them assembling their guns. 

“I got it,” Leonard says, with all the smug pleasure in the world, and Allison rolls her eyes with a quirk to her lips, while David congratulates him, meaning every word of it. 

They spend all night helping Leonard plan out what to do with the research grant, sheets and sheets of paper as they try to figure out costs and how exactly to do this, how much everything will take, how long, who they can manage and god knows what else might be involved. It works, though-- it works, and even though it’s nearing six AM and Allison’s curled up between them on the floor, fast asleep, it’s entirely worth it for the way David grins at him. “Show it to the board.” 

“No. Get the fuck in bed, sleep, and then show it to the goddamn board,” Allison mumbles, curling an arm around Leonard’s waist with a sleepy, irritated noise, making a more threatening one when he strokes his fingers through her hair. She’s correct, though; they ought to get into bed, and together they stagger to the sad excuse for a futon they have, while David assures him he’ll clean up as he can sleep in, in the morning. 

 

It takes another two years to get to where they need to be, but soon enough, he has it. They draw straws over the name-- Project Freelancer is what ultimately wins, and maybe they shouldn’t have let Allison make it a drinking game, because David can’t find his bed, and she’s dragging them both in with a sleepy noise, and neither male objects, really, to her being sprawled between them, somehow taking up more room on the bed than both of them combined. 

It’s a good idea-- solid, Leonard thinks, taking the time while Allison’s asleep and David is sprawled next to her to just run his fingers through her hair. What better way to work on saving humanity-- on aiding it, even from itself, than Project Freelancer, with all of its agents named after states? Allison thinks it’s stupid and vocalizes it all the time, but David manages to get her to compromise-- Project Freelancer as the name was her idea, and she’d won. At the very least, they could have agents named after states.

( _Besides_ , he offers, rather pleased he could string all of his words together properly with the sheer amount of rum they had all consumed in the past three hours, _Agent Washington sounds pretty--_

_Pretentious. Stupid._ Allison gives him a patiently irritated look and then shoves at him just to get him to grin at her, rolling her eyes. _Fine, whatever. Dibs on Texas. No one’s gonna drag that state’s name through the mud, thank you_.

But they’re both from Texas, which makes him frown just a little, running through possible names, but David blinks, an idea clear just by the way he brightens.

_You’re in charge, right? You’ll be the Director. Dr. Leonard Church, Director of Project Freelancer. Sounds good._

It does, really. Even Allison doesn’t object to it, shrugging which is really, honestly as good as her saying it’s the best goddamn name she’s heard since her own.

It has a ring to it. )

 

The Project works-- he calls up an old friend, Asaf, to be the counselor, and together, the four of them work to build it up to something that can make a difference-- that can really help. They find people from all over who will work as agents, and the training isn’t easy in the slightest, but it works, and they’re not sharing a cramped apartment anymore, either.

It’s a flat, just a ten minute drive away from the grounds of the facility, and things couldn’t have worked out better if they’d planned every single minute of the day. 

It works, it works, and they’re happy and nothing can go wrong. 

( Allison’d always told him those kind of thoughts bred trouble. )

 

 

“What happened?” Leonard demands as soon as he’s in the infirmary, out of breath and chest pounding a mile a minute while Allison paces the room back and forth, teeth clenched. “It was supposed to be a routine--” 

“Well it wasn’t motherfucking routine,” Allison snarls, and then stops herself, clenching her hands into fists so tight her nails break skin, even if she keeps them short all the time. Leonard backs down, just like that, leaning heavily on the wall, lips pressed in a thin line, waiting. “It was an ambush, alright-? They got the jump on us, and Maine’s in there too, gunshot wounds to the throat, but they say he’s gonna make it. They’re-- they’re not telling me shit about David. I don’t know.” 

It’s because they’re not his own medical facilities, but that’s easily bypassed enough; he keeps a chip on him at all times for FILSS, even if she is on loan from the UNSC, because they won’t give him his own AI. She still does the trick, and soon enough he has a hospital room number, and an unlocked door, nodding his head to it as they creep down the halls, into his room and-- 

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” 

He doesn’t need to say anything, really-- Allison’s sharp exhale does it all. David is barely recognizable from the mid-twenty year old that they both know and have known for years. Instead, he’s wrapped in bandages and breathing through a tube, a million machines hooked up to him. He’s never, ever seen Allison cry, but he catches the way her whole body shows her resignation, the way her shoulders slip for a moment, and the way she forces herself perfectly, totally still, before she pushes it away and forces herself to his side, gripping the man’s hand tightly, heedless of the bandages. 

“The medical logs. What do they say?” 

He envies that she can keep her voice that steady-- he doesn’t think he can. Instead, he pings FILSS to bring them up and finds his heart stopping in his chest, ice running through his veins. 

“It’s a coma. They’ve tried contacting next of kin, but there aren’t any-- they want to take him off life support. They just haven’t had anyone to contact for it.” 

For all that he knows David, that he’s been close, close friends with David, he reads it off in a forced even voice, almost mechanical, like it’s someone else’s best friend lying on the hospital bed. Allison doesn’t say a word, but she really doesn’t have to, sitting heavily and pressing her face into her hands, breathing hard. 

“We’re taking him back. HQ is-- he shouldn’t die here. He wouldn’t want that. We’re taking him back, I don’t care what strings you have to pull, Leonard. We’re taking him back.” 

Funnily enough, he doesn’t care what strings he has to pull, either. 

 

 

He’s never considered himself a desperate man, but it’s a chance-- the UNSC won’t grant him an AI, and he’s seen how it hurts Allison, and-- David deserves a second chance. 

_he’d want this._

It’s why he hooks him up to the machines, it’s why he has FILSS monitor them, it’s why he shuts off life support, and waits and waits and waits, until a gray hologram slides to life on the little chip in containment, and he hears a familiar voice. 

“--Leonard, what the hell did you do.”


End file.
